


Who Cares When It Feels Like Crack?

by DabMyWetties



Series: Randomly Inspired Oneshots [2]
Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Boys In Love, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Obsession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 04:34:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10779681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DabMyWetties/pseuds/DabMyWetties
Summary: There are limits as to how many times you can come home drunk - drunk from liquor, drunk from happiness, drunk from limerence. There are limits as to how many times I can do the same.





	Who Cares When It Feels Like Crack?

There are limits. 

There are limits as to how many times I can wander restlessly around an empty house, sit alone at the table staring out into the dark, or pretend to enjoy myself as I perpetually check my phone for your call. 

There are limits as to how many times you can hold me like I’m all that matters before disappearing all night, or how many times we can kiss before we drift off to kiss someone else. 

There are limits as to how many times you can come home drunk - drunk from liquor, drunk from happiness, drunk from limerence. There are limits as to how many times I can do the same. 

I haven’t found them yet.  

There are limits in that they exist somewhere for someone but I don’t know that we actually have them. 

I think about them sometimes. I think about them when we’re angry, when we’re sloppy drunk on something and I ask you to be better, or you ask me to be less, and when the words and sometimes dishes fly. I think about them when I apologize and you don’t because you’re too you to apologize often. 

Man, fuck your pride. 

And in the end I will never find the limits because of you. You’re a drug. You’re my drug, we are our drug. 

I don’t want to find those limits. 

Even tonight, you come home drunk on frustration over something and someone that doesn’t matter and I’m high from just your presence. 

“It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t matter.” I tell you. 

You tell me he does. I know he doesn’t, not really, because you yell. You get angry that I’d say it because we both know it’s true. Words fly, as they do, and that doesn’t really matter either. 

Fuck your pride. 

We’re up all night. We argue but it’s toothless; you’re coursing through my veins and soon enough I’m coursing through yours. Soon after that we fuck, because that makes it better. 

I am obsessed with you. Addicted. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> It should hopefully be obvious that this is based on & inspired by Rihanna’s “Kiss It Better.” 
> 
> Unstructured prose here to clear my head a little, the narrator is purposely left nameless. Treat it like a little Scomiche Choose Your Own Adventure. Who do you think is narrating and who do you think comes home drunk on frustration?


End file.
